Parallel
by quiet liban
Summary: Could an assignment on the rise of The Years of Terror bring back the memories of Tom Riddle for Ginny Weasley? Or could it bring upon a disturbing revelation about Draco Malfoy?


TITLE: Parallel  
SUMMARY:  
Could an assignment on the rise of The Years of Terror bring back the memories of Tom Riddle for Ginny Weasley? Or couldit bring upon a disturbing revelation about Draco Malfoy?  
RATING: PGish  
DISCLAIMER: Obviously the characters of The Harry Potter Universe don't belong to me. If they did why wouldI bother with fanfiction?

* * *

Agirl sat in a library. A quill laid out over a piece of parchment as she read over the words in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts._ She quickly picked up the quill, dipping in the pot of black ink before scribbling down brief notes. The girl stared at her handwriting for a moment; there was something niggling at her. It did not seem right that the rest of the world was unable to make the connection. It appeared in the books so obvious to her. 

It had begun quietly with small scribbles of her frustrations on a blank page of an old diary. The blank page had not been at all that blank, and her scribbled frustrations were answered with calm understanding that the girl had been a fool to trust. There had been no one else to listen then, she was insignificant and who would want to listen to a homesick first-year?

The girl shook. She should have known that this assignment would bring back the memories. Not that the memories ever really left. They were always with her. The girl sighed, looking back to the book that sat heavily in her lap. She turned the page skimming it, trying to find the date that she needed. It was not there. It was never there. She conquered her urge to scream at the useless book before muttering to herself about the bias of the history-keepers. The girl snapped the book shut, before shoving it on to the table where her notes were waiting.

It was irritating. There was nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing that could help her discuss what had caused the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He, whom she called Tom.

Tom Riddle born circa 1926 mysteriously vanishing after 1943, the talented young charismatic wizard presumably lost during The Years of Terror. The girl tried not to show her frustration. They did not know. No one knew. No one knew what Tom-what _He_ really was. No one knew that Tom Marvolo Riddle _was_ Lord Voldemort, at least no one who mattered.

She returned the book to its shelf, foolishly leaving her things displayed on the table. She glared at the blonde hair boy who had come to stand next to her notes. He had an arrogant pose edged with melancholy. The girl could almost hear the decent part of herself saying words of sympathy but she shushed them. The blonde boy did not deserve them, and further more would never accept them. He still believed that she was beneath him, thought that she was a blood traitor. The boy appeared to be reading her scribbled notes and anger rushed through her blood.

"What do you want _Malfoy_?" she said his name like it was a bad word and was ready for the insults that he was sure to let fly.

He did not answer. The blonde boy did not look up. He just continued to ignore her and read her notes.

The girl did not trust the blonde boy, but was unsure of what to do. She was not overly intimidated by the boy who wore his shiny prefect's badge like a medal of honour. She knew that he could not possible hurt her without fear of retribution and as such was unlikely to do so. Malfoy was not the type of boy who broke rules unless he was entirely certain he would not get caught.

She began to take the parchment away from the boy's eyesight; this led to him clamping down her arm, holding both the parchment and her arm tight against the desk.

"I was reading that," were his quiet words. He did not sound menacing, but she was wary. What was the blonde boy planning?

"You could try asking," the girl stated letting go of the paper to wriggle free her arm. Once free she glared at the boy, who was watching her with cool grey eyes.

Suddenly she felt nervous. Malfoy was reported to be acting strange, more reserved than usual. A friend of hers had said that he was letting out less than his daily quota of verbal insults and quips.

She looked away, ashamed for losing her nerve. The girl had countered this boy numerous times, but there was something different about him.

"What are these for?" the blonde boy asked, but the words sounded like a demand and the girl was reluctant to answer. The girl swallowed, weighing her decisions in her head.

"An assignment."

The blonde boy glared, "I'm not as stupid as your brother."

The girl fought to hide her relief. His polished drawl strangely made her feel safe, as if the world was not changing and would forever remain the same.

"While I imagine it may be very hard to be stupider than Ron, I'm sure you manage wonderfully."

Grey eyes flashed with anger but he remained otherwise stoic in expression.

"I could help you," the blonde boy said slowly, he looked at her notes again. The girl knew he would recognise the dates she had written, and would be curious by the list scrawled down the side. She was suspicious though, why would this boy even offer to help her? He was her enemy. They had no great affection or fondness for each other, unless you counted the pleasure they each took in insulting one another.

"Why would you do a thing like that?" The girl asked quietly, not sure if she was asking him or herself.

"This is interesting," he said genuinely. The girl was shocked by his words.

"You don't even know what it's about Malfoy."

The boy tutted, he put the parchment back down on the desk before studying her carefully. "I can guess."

The girl was aware that goose bumps had appeared over her skin, and her hair stood on ends. She looked around at the other students. They were all engrossed in their work. Not seeming to notice the strange occurrence in the corner of the room. The pair was hidden from the eyes of many by the ancient bookshelves.

The girl was mystified. "That doesn't explain what you would get out of it. You're a Slytherin, you don't do anything without some self-purpose."

The blonde boy smirked.

The girl shook her head slightly, before reaching out to take her notes from the desk. Once again the boy stopped her. "Don't you want my help Ginny Weasley?" A malicious sort of glee echoed in his words, and the girl was immediately wary.

"I'll be fine without it Malfoy." She tried to move away from the boy but he would not let her, his grip around her wrist unrelenting. She struggled before realising that he was studying her, and she looked up to find his unmovable gaze. The girl was reminded of the boy's father. Cold grey eyes that looked upon her with permanent contempt.

His fingers let go, releasing her, but she could feel the ghost of his hand still strong around her arm.

"We'll see," his words echoed in the air, and he walked away. The girl studied his back for a moment. Trying to fathom what his purpose was. The girl reached out again, successfully taking up the parchments now that the blonde boy was gone. She read them again, looking down at the list under 'causes.' The seven reasons were scribbled in her handwriting.

The girl shuddered when found she could apply most of them to the blonde boy.


End file.
